As I was looking through my old high school photo albums, I stumbled across a picture and box score from what is now known around my hometown as "The Game".
Back in my senior year of high school, my team, the St Thomas Buffalo Wings were considered one of the top teams in all of Canada. But the only team better was our cross town rivals, the Millertown Public High Gopher Holes. They beat us 21-18 in our only regular season meeting, but we managed to make it to the Provincial Finals against the very same Gopher Holes.
Things were tense as we stumbled out of the gate and trailed 13-7 at the half. While our offense showed up in spades in the 3rd quarter, they matched us step for step and led 34-28 with 65 seconds remaining in the ball game. With the ball on our own 11, things seemed bleak, but we marched to our 25 with 9 seconds left. (Clock management is not a strength at our school). With no timeouts left, our rubber arm QB launched a pass to our 31 with zeroes on the clock. It was a high pass, but I came down with it and side stepped their LB and started upfield. I zigged and I zagged, sometimes stiff arming guys that I had deked out prior on the play already. As I approached the 45, I realized I only had defenders to beat. I felt a shoulder hit my back and the ball poked free. But as I fell the ball had a life of it's own and flew about 15 yards and into enemy territory. And as if it had been covered in pig's fat, no one could get a handle on it. I lifted myself off the ground and joined the melee as the ball squirted towards the Gopher Holes' goal line. As luck would have it I found myself with an opportunity to once again grab the pigskin, this time at the opposition 16. I pounced on the ball and ran as fast as I could to the endzone, scoring the touchdown. Much to my horror though, I saw multiple yellow flags littering the field. What happened?!?!?!?!?!?
" Holding. Offense number 68. Repeat the down." My heart sunk as I heard the call. The defense accepted the penalty and we lost.. again. FML. Then I burned the picture and box score, setting my curtains ablaze and warranting a visit from the local fire department.
414 words.
Back in my senior year of high school, my team, the St Thomas Buffalo Wings were considered one of the top teams in all of Canada. But the only team better was our cross town rivals, the Millertown Public High Gopher Holes. They beat us 21-18 in our only regular season meeting, but we managed to make it to the Provincial Finals against the very same Gopher Holes.
Things were tense as we stumbled out of the gate and trailed 13-7 at the half. While our offense showed up in spades in the 3rd quarter, they matched us step for step and led 34-28 with 65 seconds remaining in the ball game. With the ball on our own 11, things seemed bleak, but we marched to our 25 with 9 seconds left. (Clock management is not a strength at our school). With no timeouts left, our rubber arm QB launched a pass to our 31 with zeroes on the clock. It was a high pass, but I came down with it and side stepped their LB and started upfield. I zigged and I zagged, sometimes stiff arming guys that I had deked out prior on the play already. As I approached the 45, I realized I only had defenders to beat. I felt a shoulder hit my back and the ball poked free. But as I fell the ball had a life of it's own and flew about 15 yards and into enemy territory. And as if it had been covered in pig's fat, no one could get a handle on it. I lifted myself off the ground and joined the melee as the ball squirted towards the Gopher Holes' goal line. As luck would have it I found myself with an opportunity to once again grab the pigskin, this time at the opposition 16. I pounced on the ball and ran as fast as I could to the endzone, scoring the touchdown. Much to my horror though, I saw multiple yellow flags littering the field. What happened?!?!?!?!?!?
" Holding. Offense number 68. Repeat the down." My heart sunk as I heard the call. The defense accepted the penalty and we lost.. again. FML. Then I burned the picture and box score, setting my curtains ablaze and warranting a visit from the local fire department.
414 words.
S42 Ultimini Champ
S42 DSFL MOP, DSFL MVP, DSFL ALL-PRO
S44 Ultimus Champ